Mix and Match
by CrystalLotus98
Summary: As many things that clashed between Chell and Wheatley in terms of personality, more than enough things matched perfectly to make up for them. Human!AU, Chelley
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, it's me again! So, while browsing the Portal section of this site and DA, I've come to notice that there is a growing influx of Chelley; which pleases me greatly. I've often asked myself: "Did I do this?" but then I realize that there have been other people who have seen the Chelley and that train of thought is rather egotistical. But that's just my thoughts and they have NOTHING to do with this little drabble series. Oh, an if any of you have any promts/requests for me, post them in the reviews and I'll try and get around to writing them. All righty, cheers~**

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><p><strong>1. Home<strong>

They had always said "home was where the heart was," Chell felt like that saying could be best applied to her. Orphaned at birth, raised in a tiny little house as a member of a family of three who always seemed to have financial difficulties. Even though the roof leaked sometimes, the paint was starting to peel away, and the furniture was decades old, Chell had always felt that it was her home. As silly as it sounded, her new house in Cleveland, Ohio didn't start to _really_ feel like home until Wheatley started visiting everyday after work.

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><p><strong>2. Family<strong>

Wheatley came from a big, happy family, as was evidenced by the photo album filled to the brim of pictures. It must have been nice, Chell thought to herself as she flipped another of the plastic-protected pages, to have brothers and sisters. Wheatley was the middle child in a family of five; two older sisters and two younger brothers, all of them –much to Chell's amusement- had hair of some shade of orange or red or light brown.

"It wasn't as fun as you would imagine," Wheatley began a light frown on his face as he looked at the glossy pages. "My brothers were just fine and dandy because, you know, I was their big brother. But my sisters," he said, tapping a finger on a picture of two identical strawberry-blonde haired girls, each with matching smiles and a matching face full of freckles. The only noticeable difference between the two was that the girl on the left had short hair, and the one on the right had long. "They were _nasty_ when they wanted to be. They were only sweet abooouuuttt…. Fifty percent of the time."

"That has _got_ to be an exaggeration," Chell said with an unbelieving expression.

"Okay, okay… _sixty_ percent of the time. You wanna know the first thing they did whenever we _actually_ got snow in Bristol?"

"What?"

"Dumped snow on all of our heads in the morning, the only time they tried to get up earlier than the rest of us and- stop laughing! It's not funny!"

"Oh, I don't think so." Chell said in between her (failed to be) suppressed giggles, she swore to God that Wheatley actually _huffed_ when he turned his head away from her.

"But you know… regardless of how immature they acted; I wouldn't trade my sisters for the world." Wheatley admitted, pulling the photo album from Chell's lap and placing it in his own, smiling fondly at the picture of the two twin girls.

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><p><strong>3. Name<strong>

Chell had never voiced the question out loud, but it had always been hovering in the back of her mind: what _did_ "S.M." stand for, anyway? The only people who would know were Glados (like _she_ would tell), his family (she didn't even know their number), and of course Wheatley himself. She had asked Gordon once, but was surprised when even _he_ didn't know.

"I never brought it up," Gordon explained with a light shrug. "I was just fine with calling him 'S.M.' or just 'Wheatley,' didn't matter to him."

She didn't know why the question was bothering her so much; maybe she was listening to P too much. The overly-excited orange-eyed woman _had_ said something about there not being enough "trust" in their relationship because Wheatley wouldn't tell what his first name was. Of course Chell had pointed out that P hadn't told her what the "P" in _her_ name stood for, which caused the other technician to wave her hands frantically and sputter out that it was a stupid name and wasn't important. Of course at that moment Atlas happened to walk by the two and, in a tone so calm it seemed to be put up _just_ to annoy P, answered:

"Her name is Prunella."

"Shhhhh!"

"Oh, what? She already heard me, she's not deaf _Pruney._"

"Oooooh, that's it. Come here!" Chell blinked when P launched herself at Atlas, the blue eyed male blowing a raspberry back at her as he ran from her wrath. She shook her head and went out to look for schematics for a new machine that Aperture was having her department work on. Some sort of "inter-dimensional-hole-making-gun" (that was actually how Mr. Johnson described it when he demanded it be made).

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><p><strong>4. Helpless<strong>

There were very few times Chell _actually_ felt helpless, in fact she couldn't even remember the last time she had felt as inexplicitly helpless as she did when she walked into Wheatley's small kitchen to find him with his face buried in his arms on the table, muffled sobs coming from his trembling form.

"Wheatley…?" she attempted, reaching out a hand to touch his back, he had snapped his head up and looked at her like he had been shocked. Wheatley crying was _not_ a pretty sight. Seeing him upset was _unnatural_, alien, as naïve as the idea was Chell saw Wheatley as someone who could never cry. He didn't say a word to her as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, burying his face in her belly as his body shook with dry sobs.

She allowed him to stay like that for a while, offhandedly running her fingers through his hair in some attempt to calm him down. When he finally did, he looked up at Chell with the most _pitiful _expression she had ever seen on his face.

"Mum called… my-my dad's…he… he died about an hour ago…" As soon as he finished his sentence he buried his face against her again, hands fisting into the material of her shirt even tighter. "I don't get it… the doctors sah-…said he would be _fine_. Why did they _lie_?" Chell didn't respond, how could she? She had never experienced the loss of a family member; her parents were still happy and healthy back in upper-Michigan.

Helplessness was such an ugly emotion, one that she never wanted to feel again. _Especially_ if Wheatley was somehow involved.

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><p><strong>5. Suggestion<strong>

They had been an official couple for the past six months, and Wheatley was prattling on and on about what they should do to celebrate that day during their break. At least his suggestions weren't as out there as they had been when his first started throwing them out there (although he did insist for a good long while that he should take her to the English countryside or to Bristol. Places like London weren't even mentioned), now they were talking about places to go that were actually _in_ the state.

"We could take a holiday to Cuyahoga Falls or Lake Eerie; I mean it's completely up to you. Heck, we can even go up to Lake Michigan, maybe even visit your folks! Again, entirely up to you."

"I have an even better idea!" P exclaimed from behind Wheatley, making the poor man jump what was probably an inch out of his seat. The silver-blonde haired woman got a wicked smirk on her face as she lent forward, placing one of her hands on the table to look at the ginger's profile. "Propose to Chell." She said, pointing at the glasses-wearing man to accentuate her point.

"E-e-e-_excuse me_?" Wheatley sputtered once he remembered that he had a _voice_, looking up at the technician like her head had just turned into a dragon's and she was spewing fire everywhere.

"Propose! You know, pop the question, tie the knot, make the ultimate commitment-"

"Yes. Yes I know what you meant."

Chell cleared her throat audibly, turning P's attention from Wheatley to her fellow technician.

"Don't you think it's a little… _soon_ for that?"

"Not really," P replied, standing up straight to twirl a lock of hair around her finger idly. "I mean, Wheat's been in love with you for… pretty much ever. Rick's still making moves on you even though you guys are together; he'll shut up if you show him a nice, shiny ring on your finger!" P explained, nodding to herself in approval and letting the curled lock of hair fall back into place.

Chell sighed exasperatingly; she _really_ needed new friends.

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><p><strong>6. Rain<strong>

Wheatley frowned and looked out the window, watching as large, fat rain drops pattered against the windows mercilessly. When he was a boy he didn't _mind_ the rain, but after living in a city that got rain all year-round the phenomenon was just a bother. You couldn't go outside for very long when it was raining, not without an umbrella or a coat, and the wind blowing just made the falling water even _colder_.

"Glaring isn't going to make it stop raining, you know." Chell pointed out, looking at her lover of six months over the top of the book she was only half-engrossed in.

"I know it won't; I'm not a moron." Wheatley replied, "But I'm allowed to glare at something I don't like, aren't I? You do it all the time."

"I never said you were," Chell began, licking the tip of her finger before pressing it to the paper and flicking to the next page. "And you are, but one would think you'd be used to the rain after growing up in England."

"I am, trust me I am, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Besides, the rain here is so _cold_ compared to rain in Bristol!"

"We do get hail here almost every year."

"Thanks for proving my point, luv." Wheatley said and turned his glare away from the window, propping his elbow up on the arm of the couch and placing his chin in his palm. "There just… isn't anything to do when it rains. And it's a Saturday night, so there won't be anything good on the telly." He glanced quickly at Chell and spoke again, eager to fill the empty space that came with her questioning look. "Not-not-not-not that spending time with you isn't good enough! No-no, far from it! Y'know, if I was ever trapped on a desert island, you're the person I'd wanna spend that time with."

"That's a touching thought," Chell began with a chuckle, folding the top corner of her book and shutting it with a dull thump. "But I have an idea what we can do. Here's a hint: You plus me plus my bedroom equals… what?"

Wheatley swore to God above he could hear the dog all the way at the other end of the street bark it was so quiet. He tried to speak, small little sounds coming out of his mouth every time he tried, even after clearing his throat several times in an attempt to remind his voice box he could speak. Sure they had done… _those_ things before, of course they did (despite him being an emotionally and romantically awkward man and she a stern, down-to-earth woman, they still had _desires _like any normal healthy couple)! "I meant just cuddling, Wheats." Chell cut in with a high, airy laugh.

"Right… I knew that! I totally knew that!"

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><p><strong>7. Animals<strong>

He had chosen the wrong profession, Chell decided as she watched Wheatley fawn over a glass case of puppies in the front window of a pet shop they were walking by. That wasn't to say that the ginger wasn't a _brilliant_ biologist (probably one of the best in his department), he just seemed to have a general passion for animals as they were rather than how their internal systems worked. After all this was the man who brought in homeless cats and dogs on stormy nights to keep them safe from the elements and tended to the broken wings of birds he found once in a while. Honestly, Chell could see him as a humble veterinarian than a biologist at a science facility pumped out products that did more harm than good eighty-percent of the time (it was a wonder they hadn't been sued yet).

Chell sighed, but smiled all the same, when she noticed that her animal-loving companion for the afternoon had rushed inside the shop and was currently admiring some bird.

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><p><strong>8<strong>. **Chocolate**

"You know something I've noticed?" Wheatley asked suddenly after nibbling on the corner of a Hershey bar thoughtfully.

"Hmm?" Chell hummed over her shoulder, opening one of the high cabinets in her kitchen, standing on her toes to sift through the various contents that had been carelessly thrown in.

"American chocolate is really bitter compared to how it is back home." He said as a matter-of-factly, nodding to himself as he broke a square off and popped it in his mouth.

"Are you kidding me?" Chell asked, forgoing her quest to find the extra can of coffee she _knew_ was in the cupboard and look at her bespectacled lover.

"No, no, totally serious." Wheatley replied folding the thin foil back over the partially nibbled-on treat and placing it aside. "English chocolate is _much_ sweeter than this; doubt most Americans could handle it, really." Chell leaned against the counter and rolled her eyes,

"And I suppose _you're_ the expert on chocolate?"

"No, _that_ would be my first younger brother. And I'm just saying what I know, luv."

"Since British chocolate is so sweet, I guess that's why your teeth look less than perfectly white." Chell said jokingly, a joke that sailed right over poor Wheatley's head, since he slapped a hand over his mouth and turned his head away.

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><p><strong>9. Glasses<strong>

On a whim, Chell took Wheatley's glasses from his nose and held them in front of her eyes, instantly going cross-eyed and holding the accessory nearly arms-length, "Jesus, you really _are_ blind." Wheatley frowned (not huffed, mind you) and held his hand out,

"Yes. Yes I know. Can I have those back now, please?"

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><p><strong>10. Accent<strong>

Wheatley was a bit of a blabber mouth and there was no two-ways about that. Of course he could be quiet when the situation called for it (he would make some sort of sound in compromise, but still), but he was definitely most comfortable when he was speaking. Sure, he tripped over his own words sometimes and didn't seem to have a "mind-to-mouth" control, but that didn't bother Chell for two reasons:

One. Wheatley was her best friend and lover for eight whole happy months, she had gotten used to his rambling tendencies a _long_ time ago.

Two: That _accent_. More than once Chell pondered whether or not it was shallow to be as attracted to Wheatley's accent as she was; but she couldn't help it. It wasn't often you heard a English accent in Ohio ("So far across the pond," as Wheatley would say), and his accent was _soothing_ to listen to. Nothing at all like all the badly-emulated, stereotypical English accents that appeared in late-night comedy shows. It was while listening to the Englishman recount what had happened in his department that day, throwing in his own comments every other sentence, that Chell decided that no; being attracted to Wheatley's accent wasn't shallow since it was _his_.

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><p><strong>Notes on stuff:<strong>

**"Prunella" is an actual name; no joke. Look it up. **

**Bristol: From what I've read online, Bristol is one of the warmer parts of England... and also the rainiest. It rains all year round and very rarely gets snow. To me it seems rain in Bristol is how the monsoon season is over here in Tucson; it can be pouring rain but still be comfortably warm. Ohio on the other hand actually have risks of getting hail almost every year. **

**Chocolate: I have read that English chocolate is considerably sweeter than American, I can't remember where though. **

**Animals: I can totally picture Wheatie being a biiiiiig animal lover as a human. His canon incarnation on the other hand seems to have a problem with birds.**

**Family: Again, I can picture human!Wheatley coming from a big family, the kind with lots of siblings and lots of cousins. But this could just be my mind wanting to draw a parallel to Chell, who has no siblings or cousins as far as we know  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Hey it's me again : D I just want to thank everyone who reviewed, you guys are all awesome, seriously. Hopefully the next update will come sooner, no guarantees though.**

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><p><strong>11. Jealous<strong>

Wheatley would have liked to think he kept a lot of his emotions in check. His co-workers on the other hand would laugh out loud and then say "oh wait, you're serious." Okay, so he _was_ a man who let his emotions drive him rather than his head (which could explain why so many things that _seemed_ like a good idea at the time caught fire...), but he was okay with that. There wasn't anything wrong with feeling like singing whenever you saw the woman he loved or dancing down the halls after she kissed him on the lips. Nope, nothing wrong with that at all (unless your name happened to be Galanos Atlas, who saw Wheatley's emotionally driven nature to be incredibly naïve).

The Bristolian was walking down one of the halls that lead from the main office, one of the interns had asked him to deliver something to the Technology department since he was going in that direction anyway (his and Chell's relationship was pretty common knowledge by this point)

"So anyway beautiful, I was just wonderin' that _maaaaaybe_ if you have the time, you can show me 'round here. This place is ridiculously big, after all." Wheatley blinked in attention at the new voice. Ah, it was that sleezy new intern who seemed to be under the impression that every woman in this facility was in love with him (although with the way most of them seemed to swoon over any sort of accent...) and- just what was he doing being so close to Chell? Wheatley grit his teeth behind his lips and gripped the small stack of papers he held in his hands.

"I would, but I've been really busy. AI business and all that. Sorry, you'll have to ask someone else." Chell said calmly, ducking under the interns arm (where did he get off? Pinning her to the wall like that?), he _sounded_ collected, but Wheatley could tell that she was either irritated or feeling awkward about being very blatantly flirted with by an intern.

"C'mon, you bein' gone for a little bit isn't gonna make the facility explode." He replied, sliding to the left and cutting off Chell's escape with an arm. "You can show me what goes on _behind_ the scenes."

Deciding enough was enough, and figuring that if his teeth clenched any tighter they would crack, the ginger took a deep breath, fiddled with the frames of his glasses and strode forward.

"Chell, I've got something for you," he said as he approached the pair, who turned their heads towards him at the sound of his voice.

"Do you? Oh, good, wonderful." Chell replied, ducking under the interns arm and fast-walking over to the Englishman. She mouthed "thank you" to Wheatley before taking the stack of papers, smoothing them out. For the sake of politeness, she looked over her shoulder towards the other man in the hall. "Sorry Rick but this is urgent. You'll just have to ask Craig or someone else for a tour."

"_That_ know-it-all?" Rick snorted, "I'd rather listen in on Neil and Zoe's Q and A session about Space." Rick replied, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring lightly at the red-head.

"Sorry. Oh, by the way Wheatley, mind walking with me for a while? I've got something to talk to you about." She hardly even regarded Rick even further, quickly turning her attention back to the bespectacled man in front of her. Wheatley smiled lightly, grabbing one of Chell's hands and kissing the knuckles lightly.

"I'd be happy to _luv_," he enunciated, a small spark of triumph going through him when he saw Rick's expression turn into one of pure disbelief, mouth gaping over and arms dangling limply at his sides (did a woman rejecting him really shock him that badly? It certainly seemed so).

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><p><strong>12. Snow<strong>

Wheatley blinked and looked up when something soft and cold landed on his nose, smiling widely when he saw tiny white flakes drifting down from the sky. "Chell, look! It's snowing!" He said excitedly, pointing a finger up at the sky.

"So it is," Chell noted, putting her hands in her coat pocket and looked towards the sky. "At least it's not hail."

"Oh, this is much better than hail! Or sleet, or rain, or any of those things!" Wheatley exclaimed, lowering his face to look at Chell's profile, who looked back up at him with a small smile.

"You're so excited, it's only snow."

"Well, yeah," he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "But I've only seen snow a few times in my life. Bristol isn't exactly known for its snowy winters." From what Wheatley had told her, his home city was known for being wet. Very, very wet; but that was how all of England was to her limited understanding of the country. Watching her lover marvel at the snow, cupping the flakes in his gloved hands until they melted, Chell got a mischievous idea, she smirked and knelt down, gathering some of the ground snow that had fallen earlier that morning and packed it in a ball.

"You know Wheats, there is _one _thing that everyone does when it snows."

"What's that? Snowmen building? Snow angels?" Chell laughed lightly, oh how naive her little Wheatley was~

"No-no-no. None of that." Her smirk spread to a full-out Cheshire grin as she took a few steps back tilted her arm . "Snowballs!" She exclaimed, throwing the snow at Wheatley's back before running past him, laughing like she had just heard the funniest joke in the world. The Englishman on the other hand stood shocked for a moment before giving chase to his rather mischievous girlfriend. Their little chase ending with his arms wrapped around her and the two lying in a mound of snow chuckling like a couple of madmen.

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><p><strong>13. Crossword<strong>

Wheatley licked the end of his pen in preparation and pressed it against the innocent piece of newsprint, crossing his legs together in order to get comfortable.

"Okay crossword, prepare to be solved by me. Stephen-Micheal Wheatley. Starting... now." and with that the ginger led the tip of his pen to the list of clues at the bottom of the page. "a eight letter word for a person whose mental acumen is well below par... what's 'acumen' even mean? You know what, forget it, I'll get to it later.

"Later" turned out to be at least two hours, and Wheatley had long since fallen asleep, the quarter-completed crossword still open in his his lap, a few random doodles scattered around in the blank pages. One column in particular would interest anyone who bothered to look, which was no one seeing as how Wheatley had been attempting the crossword in his flat.

"Regarded with pleasure, wonder, and approval." His answer? Chell (who cared if it was one letter off?).

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><p><strong>14. Hair<strong>

It was an odd thing to be attracted to, Chell could fully admit. Wheatley's hair was far from being the best looking she had ever seen (he seemed to put minimum effort in brushing it in the morning); maybe it was the color that attracted her so. A dull orange tone that was either flaming red or a light auburn depending on how the light hit it; it was certainly more... interesting than her own hair: run-of-the mill blackish-brown.

Contrary-wise, Wheatley adored her hair, always played with the dark strands in his fingers whenever he could, gently raking his fingers through the mane after a night of passion; similar to the situation they were in now. Chell ran a hand through her lovers sweat-dampened hair, brushing the bangs away from his still lightly flushed cheeks, his only response being a small sound of pleasure as he snuggled into Chell's chest, arms tightening around her nude form lightly.

The dark haired woman shook her head, twirling a lock of ginger hair around her finger with a small smile. Hair was such an odd thing to contemplate in the afterglow of sex, but she still had a little energy left before she came down from the high; why not dedicate it to something she loved?

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><p><strong>15. Wrong Impression<strong>

Chell had been worked to death lately concerning the whole brain-scan to AI theory, along with the other employees who had been assigned to the project. So far they had kind of, sort of succeeded in creating a successful scan of some of the rats that hadn't died of asbestos. The problem was finding willing humans to volunteer (since brain-scanning had the possibility of leaving to a very minor case of serious brain damage), although Mr. Johnson had just said they should scan the minds of the poor homeless souls they had dragged into Aperture to be the test subjects.

His bosses' dwindling sanity aside, Wheatley was more concerned with the fact that Chell was literally falling asleep at their table during their break, making a barely audible plead to Wheatley for a cup of coffee, extra bitter. Wheatley, being the kind and loving soul that he was, complied to his lover's request and rushed off get her some. His quest would have gone swimmingly... if he didn't run into Atlas.

"So Ginger..." Atlas began sliding next to the taller man with a huge smirk on his face. "I noticed that Chell seems a little out of it."

"She had a busy night last night." Wheatley replied half-automatically, only giving the other man a brief glance before turning his attention back to the coffee machine.

"It sure seems like it. I guess I should congratulate you: it looks like you _finally_ managed to be the dominant one in sex. And here I thought she wore the pants."

The ginger would have responded, but he was far too busy tending to his coffee-burned hand.

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><p><strong>16. Burns<strong>

As much as Wheatley would have protested to the otherwise, the fact of the matter was that he had _horrible_ luck with anything that was hotter than a bag of popcorn. _Somehow_ he managed to burn himself on almost every appliance that Chell owned at least one. The oven, the stove, even the _coffee burner_ of all things. At the moment Chell was tending to a new burn on the palm of her lover's hand, frowning as she rubbed ointment on the skin.

"So let me get this straight: you put your hand on a _hot_ burner on the stove when you were trying to reach something on one of the shelves above the stove."

"In my defense, I could have _sworn_ I turned it off." Wheatley defended himself, wincing in pain when the woman applied a little more pressure than needed to the sensitive skin.

"You have to let it cool down before you touch it." Chell said as a matter of factly, examining the burn more closely. "Huh... it's almost a complete half circle."

"As much as I'm sure you're _enjoying_ finding shapes in my injuries, how am I going to hold anything now? I'm _left_ handed; I can't do a bloody thing wit_h my right!"_

"Now's always a good time to learn." Chell shrugged, wrapping a length of gauze around Wheatley's hand and securing it. "Speaking of learning: learn to leave the very hot cooking appliances to me from now on, would you?"

"I'll master it one day luv, just you watch." Wheatley claimed, taking his hand back and flexing the fingers of his newly injured hand experimentally.

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><p><strong>More notes on stuff!:<strong>

**"Galanos" is a Greek word for blue, it's either light blue or dark blue; I can't remember at the moment. I chose it because it seemed more like a name parents would give their kid than, say "Ble."  
><strong>


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